Letters to Heaven
by Habit
Summary: To those that have loyally followed the Habit profile over the years, please read. Thank you. Rated T-may not be suitable for all audiences.


I just want to give a shout out to all those who have loyally followed the Habit profile over the years. Many things have changed and I know I stopped posting for a while, but I have a very legitimate reason for this. My twin sister, the bubbly, smiling joy that has been with me through my best and worst times made the ultimate sacrifice: she gave me her liver. For those of you who don't know I (Liz) have been extremely ill since birth. My liver has been failing progressively over the last two years. The liver, however, does grow back, so it was a never ending process of dying off and re-growing. Eventually my liver wouldn't have been able to sustain me and I would have died.

Sis has always been by my side, holding my hand through everything. But when a car accident resulting from the bad weather that has hit the east coast claimed my sister's life, she saved mine. Sis made sure to let out parents know (behind my back I might add) that if something ever happened to her, that I was to receive her liver (she was an organ donor, as am I). My sister was a real blessing and I miss her terribly. My whole world has come to a complete stop since she died, but I thank you all for your continued support.

Sis left several stories unfinished but in honor of her love of writing and her joy at sharing that writing with all of you, I will be taking her stories up and finishing them while publishing them in her memory. To my beloved twin sister, my best friend, and my confidant: I miss you and I love you. You will never be forgotten.

* * *

I dedicate the following REAL LIFE STORY to my beloved twin and the reason I am still here today. I love you Sis. I miss you.

* * *

She scribbled on the pastel stationary she'd complained about for hours on end, but had secretly adored. Tears were dripping down her face, staining the light sheets a darker shade as the saline drops shattered atop the surface. It had been right after Christmas that her world had come crumbling down around her. The weather had taken a turn for the worse-she'd insisted everyone stay home and enjoy the coming year-but that stubborn, headstrong, _wonderful_ person who loved her so much had insisted on coming to see her. Was bringing her a 'Get Well' card, even. How silly it seemed now, in hindsight. She should have insisted that they all stay home until the weather cleared up. She should have made them keep that special person safe. But she hadn't…and they didn't. That person was gone. Forever. Death was as permanent as it got in this life.

A cry rips from her throat and she throws the stationary across the room, her pen flying along with it, her tears not long shattering on its damp surface, but rather filling her hands now. There's beeping coming from the monitors around her and nurses are yelling for her to calm down, but she just can't. She'll never see that person again. The one person who had always been by her side; who had shared life's toughest moments; who had _shaved_ thick, luscious locks of hair off, just to make her feel better about how she looked. That person would never walk through those doors again, giving her that patent 'What did you do now?' look.

Instead, a tall, clean cut young man strides forward, pushing nurses and doctors aside. They protest, but one look at the hostile glare the man gives them has them backing away, waiting. As the man kneels in front of the young woman, her sobs turn to whimpers. They murmur back and forth, the man rubbing a hand along her arm, careful of the tubes coming from every direction. She looks up at him, her eyes anguished, and asks a question that makes him swallow hard. He shakes his head, tears in his eyes, and she looks down at her hands, nodding. He reaches out and hugs her and she hugs him back, clinging desperately to him as her sorrow returns, but at least now she's not alone in her suffering.

Two more people enter, an older man and woman. The man looks years older than he had when she'd seen him at Christmas and the woman's eyes are red and swollen. It was obvious she was barely keeping it together. The man leads to the woman to a chair by the hospital bed and she sits down, something in her arms. She hands her bundle to the girl in the bed and the girl bursts into tears once more, clutching the bundle tightly to her chest. The younger man wraps his arms around the girl, tears now staining his face as well. There isn't a dry eye in the room as the girl weeps like a heartbroken child. All the nurses and doctors wipe their eyes as they watch the girl hug a baby blue stuffed bunny, a picture with a face just like hers only brighter, clutched in a white knuckled hand.

As a nurse scoots around the mourning family to check the girl's vital monitors, she notices the pastel stationary on the floor. She kneels down and tearfully gathers the pieces of paper up, her heart breaking as she notices the barely legible lines of weak handwriting the girl had attempted. On the envelope she notices a name, followed by A.K.A Sis, and under the name where the address went, she saw the word: Heaven.


End file.
